Bulma's Jewelry Box
by meganechan720
Summary: A collection of shorts about Vegeta, Bulma, and various other Briefs. But mainly BV. Now Playing: "The Husband From Outer Space." Sometimes Bulma was reminded rather forcibly of the fact that her husband was an alien.
1. Princess

**Princess**

_Bra is born. Vegeta doesn't react the way Bulma thought he would._

* * *

Bulma looked down at her brand new baby girl, and felt sorry for her. Trunks had it bad enough; she could only imagine how Vegeta was going to be with a daughter. So when the man himself came stalking into the room, his face unreadable, she was understandably nervous.

"Her name is Bra," she said softly, not offering her to him, knowing he wouldn't be interested. Her husband stared down impassively at the child, already with a tuft of blue hair on her head, fast asleep. He held his hands out and for almost a full minute she stared at them, trying to remember what hands meant.

"I wish to hold her," he said in a voice that was almost gentle under the gravel, when she'd been staring too long. She blinked at him, but held Bra out for him to take. He held her like spun glass, supporting her head as you were supposed to do with babies, and she wondered when he'd learned that. Not with Trunks, of course. Goten maybe? Not that he'd ever held Kakarot's child.

"Both my children look like you," he gruffed, but his tone was still gentle and he was speaking so softly she could barely hear him.

"Trunks has your face," she said, amused. But it was true; Bra was the spitting image of her mother.

He stood in silence for a long time, just studying the tiny face of his daughter, as though searching for something, and Bulma felt her spirits lag again. She was too tired from labor to go through this discussion right now, but she heard herself asking anyway,

"What's her power level?"

His eyes snapped up to her face, and it was clear he'd forgotten she was there. He glanced back down at Bra and studied her with more focused eyes, and Bulma wondered what he'd been thinking about before she'd interrupted him.

"It is adequate," he said, as though it didn't even matter, and she frowned. He caught that, and added, "I didn't think you would care."

"I thought you would," she said almost angrily. He studied her now, and she lay there and let him, exhausted but not sleepy.

Eventually he seemed to come to some conclusion, because he finally sat down, still holding the tiny person in his arms with over-exaggerated care, and began speaking.

"Females born into the royal house were either destined to be married off or, if their power levels were high enough, to join the ranks of the Elite. Rarely, a daughter might become Queen, if she was strong enough to defend her title and there was no other to claim the throne." He lapsed into silence again, contemplating his daughter, who would occasionally mewl in her sleep, or squirm against fingers that could be as unyielding as rock when they needed to be.

"This one will be queen of a different empire, I think," he said, looking up at Bulma, a rare ghost of a smile on his lips, his voice still soft. She blinked, blaming the way her eyes stung on exhaustion. Dammit, why didn't she feel sleepy? This hadn't happened with Trunks. She'd been out like a light as soon as the doctor had held him up. She shifted her position on the bed and tried to think of something to say.

"I already have my eye on Trunks, actually. He's pretty smart."

He merely nodded, and looked down at his daughter again as though he couldn't look at her enough. "Then she will be queen of whatever empire she wants," he murmured, and then she did cry.


	2. Lonely

**He Looked So Lonely**

_She saw him just standing there, and he looked so lonely…  
_

* * *

He looked so lonely she just had to go up to him, drink still in hand, and give him a peck on the cheek.

Swifter than a snake his hand reached out and caught her arm in his grip, sloshing liquid over the edge of her glass and onto the floor. He was blushing furiously, and his scowl was as much embarrassment as anger.

"_Dammit_, woman!" he hissed through his teeth. "Yes or no?"

"Yes or no what?" she demanded, not liking the way he was gripping her arm; though she did note that the gesture did as much to hold her at bay as it did to hold her in place.

"I am familiar enough with your customs to know that the consequences are dire if I do not secure your permission first," he said, still hissing as though he was in pain. She took in his blush, which was pooling in his face and bleeding down his neck. Her eyes swept lower, and since he was only wearing those stupid spandex training shorts, she could see with shameful clarity exactly what he was talking about. She looked back up at his eyes, so lonely, and, at the moment, so full of need.

He was asking her permission? Would the great Prince of all Saiyans stoop so low for female companionship? (_His grip was so warm, and he looked so vulnerable, standing there slightly hunched over and bulging._) What would this mean, allowing such a dangerous man in her bed? (_She had not been so breathless since she was a teenager._) Would it be a betrayal, to allow him this? (_Would it be betrayal to cheat on a cheating boyfriend? Was it cheating if they were taking a break?_) Who was this being standing in front of her: a monster without a heart, or a man without a friend?

In any case, he _was_ cute.

"Yes."

He was on her before she had finished the word.


	3. Bra

**Bra was not an accident  
**

* * *

"Bulma."

The woman in question snuffled into the blankets, and shifted position.

"Hmmm?"

"Bulma… did you _want_ to have a child?"

Certain she was dreaming, Bulma answered honestly.

"No. But I'm glad I did."

The next question was so long in coming that she was nearly asleep again when it came.

"Do you want another one?"

"Mmm… Vegeta, are you trying to have sex with me? I'm sleepy."

"No, I'm serious." And he was, and Bulma opened her eyes to find him leaning over her, propped up on one elbow. She wasn't dreaming.

"Do I… Say that again?"

"Do you want another child?"

She'd never heard his voice sound like that: open and young and… less raspy, somehow. He sounded like the man he might have been in another lifetime. She studied him, and his eyes held the same quality as his voice.

"Maybe," she said finally. "Why do you ask?"

He studied her in turn before answering.

"I… had dreams, once. Of repopulating." And in the dark she was certain she could see him blushing. She couldn't help the smile that spread across her face.

"Oh, is that what this is about?"

His cheeks flamed redder.

"It… It is, and it isn't."

"What does that mean?"

"Did you ever dream of having children? When you were younger?"

That explained the question about Trunks, she supposed.

"Not really. I was more interested in getting the handsome prince than what came after. I never thought about it."

He toyed with a lock of her hair. "I knew there were survivors, other than Nappa and Raditz and myself. There were plenty of children off world when he destroyed Vegetasei. And I knew some of them had to be female. I would…" He blushed again, and Bulma tried not to grin. "I would imagine finding one of them, maybe more than one, and rebuilding our race. But…" He trailed off, eyes going distant, and she knew he was in the past. "He made sure to hunt down the females first. When they were all dead he was more lax about finding the rest, which I imagine is how Kakarot survived so long."

"Why—" She wondered if the question would make him close off again. "Why didn't Freeza kill you too? He was worried about the Super Saiyan legend, right? And if anyone was going to become a Super Saiyan, it would have been you."

His eyes stayed distant, but he did not huff and roll over, which she took as a good sign.

"Freeza liked to toy with his prey." He paused there, and she was sure, not for the first time, that the horrors he had experienced under Freeza were worse than any of them knew. He continued. "And he was arrogant. I imagine he planned to kill me as soon as I grew too powerful or too rebellious. And… well, I suppose he did just that."

Bulma trailed a finger across his jaw line and he caught her hand in his, pressing it to his mouth. She could see in his eyes that he loved her, needed her, clung to her like she was the only thing keeping him from drowning, and she drank it in like water. It was the first time they made love intending to create a child, and it was by far the sweetest.


	4. Anniversary

**Anniversary **

_The scars on his body, and the handwriting on her calendar; how could she possibly compare them?_

* * *

She remembered anniversaries.

It was disconcerting, and then downright disturbing, as it became clear to him that some of the markings on her calendar were not of birthdays or Earth holidays, but another year come and gone from "when King Piccolo took over" or "Buu destroyed the world." On the day he fully realized this, he grabbed it off her wall and began flipping feverishly through it, ignoring her protests, until he found—yes. Of course.

"Namek ." Such a short word for such a harrowing experience.

He pierced her with a sharp look, and she returned it, though eventually she looked away.

"What is the purpose of this?" he demanded. She hesitated, and then shrugged.

"I just want to remember, I guess."

He gaped at her. Tried to wrap his mind around this. Markings on a calendar—this was not how you remembered things of this nature. Furious for reasons he could not articulate he tore off his shirt, ignoring her weak protests. He pointed angrily to his chest, and then, because this was somehow not enough, grabbed her hand and placed it there, right on the long scar that reached from his collarbone all the way across his pectoral.

"Freiza planet 629," he said, and then moved her hand to another scar, the one across his ribs. "Cui, in the mess hall."

Another scar, and another, each with a name or designation, each recalled without hesitation. Each with a lesson he could remember more clearly than the name: Frieza will always go for the weakest point first; height differences _do_ matter; don't turn your back on anyone, not even your allies.

He trailed off eventually, her hand clamped tightly to a burn mark on his thigh, as he realized she was crying. He gave her credit for trying to hold back the tears, but he still dropped her hand and stalked out of the room with a snort of disgust.

The next time they made love he traced the latticework of soldering burns on her hands and arms and hoped she understood.


	5. Rapport

**Rapport**

_Vegeta and Mrs. Briefs aren't what you'd call friends- are they?_

* * *

It was the strangest day of Bulma's life when she realized her mother and Vegeta had an actual rapport.

Naturally, she'd thought the prince merely put up with her mother's air-headedness because she gave him food, and she had, of course, assumed that her mother merely saw Vegeta as another wild animal to feed and coo over.

Then she'd actually woken up in time for breakfast one day and been proven very, very wrong.

"Good morning, Bulma, dear," her mother said, setting down a plate of something in front of her. She grunted, because it was too early for this crap, was that coffee in that mug, that had better be coffee in that mug; and Vegeta walked in, looking fresh as a daisy, the bastard, and her mother turned to him, smiled, and said,

"And good morning to you too, my adorable little prince."

Bulma choked on her coffee, looking back and forth between her mother and her—lover? Boyfriend? _Baby daddy?—_trying to decide between horror and fascination, especially when Vegeta smirked and sat himself down at the table, answering with these words:

"Morning's greetings, serving wench. Bring me bacon and coffee, and be quick about it."

Mrs. Briefs tittered at the attention, putting a hand to her cheek and smiling brightly before turning away to do as he asked. Bulma became aware that her mouth was hanging open. Vegeta frowned when he saw her expression.

"What?"

"Nothing," she said suspiciously. "Just wondering if you really walked in here and started flirting with my mother."

Vegeta snorted contemptuously.

"Don't be vulgar."

Pansy twirled back to the table, setting down a small pig's worth of bacon in front of Vegeta as well as a pitcher of coffee.

"Two seconds over your previous time," he said, digging in. Pansy frowned.

"Oh, dear. I must be getting slow in my old age."

"You could always follow my example and train in the Gravity Room," Vegeta said between mouthfuls, smirking again.

Pansy tittered again, refilling his coffee cup.

"I think I'll leave the training stuff to you tough guys," she said, giving Vegeta's bicep a quick, motherly squeeze. Bulma held out her own mug for refilling, but her mother had already turned away to the kitchen again. She turned her narrowed eyes on Vegeta, who was calmly shoveling food into his mouth and ignoring her. He was right, this wasn't flirtation, but damned if she couldn't quite figure out what it was.

Her mother returned, bearing a mound of toast and another mountain of eggs.

"Oh, Bulma, is your coffee getting empty?" she inquired, setting both trays down. "I'll go get you some more. Vegeta, dear," she added to the prince, "I've got some pancakes coming out too. Do you want syrup or jam?"

"Do you really need to ask?" he said, lifting one eyebrow at her. She laughed in genuine amusement.

"Syrup it is, then!" she chortled, heading back to the kitchen.

Banter. That's what it was. Comfortable banter. Bulma snagged a piece of toast and crammed it into her mouth, wondering when this had happened and whether her father knew.

"Ah, good morning, my boy," the very man greeted, walking into the kitchen in robe and slippers. "And how's breakfast coming along this morning?"

"Swiftly," the Saiyan replied, smirking, and her father laughed, as though he'd just been told a great joke.

"Glad to hear it!" he chuckled. "Oh, good morning Bulma. How are you?"

Bulma snatched another piece of toast and ripped into it like she was tearing meat off a bone.

"Fantastic," she muttered. "Just fantastic."


	6. Cat Person

**Cat Person**

_Bulma has seconds thoughts about letting a murderous space pirate stay at her house._

* * *

Bulma had to admit, if only to herself, that she still wasn't sure it was a good idea, letting Vegeta stay here. Sure, he was mostly keeping to himself; in fact, she'd barely seen him since they arrived, and none of her Namekian guests reported seeing him at all. And while she was pretty sure he was a tiny bit less totally evil than when he'd first appeared on Earth, well, that still didn't come close to making him safe to have as a house guest. She was certain she'd glimpsed something in him during that giddy, up-and-down time after they'd returned to Earth, but not having seen head nor hide of him since then, it was impossible to tell what exactly she'd seen. What if her usual amazing luck had given out on her this time and he went crazy and blew up the whole compound? What if he killed them all in their sleep? What if he used up all the hot water just to spite her?

These thoughts whirled in her head as she rounded the corner to the atrium and found Vegeta sitting just inside the doorway, back against a tree, a cat on his lap. He was stroking its velvet ears and gazing into the middle distance thoughtfully, his ever-present frown more pensive than angry. The cat had its eyes closed in pleasure, and was arching its back in time to his slow, methodical strokes. She stopped, hoping he hadn't sensed her there, and then backed away slowly when it appeared he hadn't. When she was out of sight, she allowed herself a wide, feline grin of her own, and took the other route to her workroom.


	7. The Husband From Outer Space

**The Husband From Outer Space**

* * *

Sometimes Bulma was reminded rather forcibly of the fact that her husband was an alien.

He had a peculiar lilt to his gait, for instance, that couldn't exactly be called limping. Once she noticed it, it was impossible to ignore, and she spent days trying to figure out what exactly she was seeing. At last it occurred to her: Vegeta walked like a man missing a limb. Which he was, she realized, leaning back from her drafting table and wishing he were in the room so she could look at him and check. He'd lost his tail much later in life than Goku, and she could catch him, on occasion, fingering the small of his back where a lump of scar tissue still marred his skin.

His teeth, as well, were not shaped like human teeth. It was subtle and easy to miss, but he had the teeth of a carnivore. His canines were the most prominent departure from human incisors: they reminded her of vampire fangs sometimes, or a wolf's.

His hair, of course, was decidedly other-worldly. It never grew out, could not be encouraged into another shape no matter how much hair gel she used, and was thicker than animal fur. Digging her fingers into it was better than stroking a bear-skin rug, and not just because when they were alone it made him melt into a puddle of boneless pleasure.

One day while making love she'd looked down at his sculpted chest and realized that his muscle groups were different than a human's: he had four abs, not six, and as she traced his musculature with her finger, prompting a groan out of him, she could see other differences, ones she didn't have enough knowledge of anatomy to name. He'd rolled over then, and cut her musings short.

Linguistically he had better grammar than Goku, but there were times she'd throw out a piece of slang or an obscure idiom and he'd stare at her blankly, having no idea what she meant. Occasionally he'd cock his head to the side and get an unfocused look in his eyes, and then snap to attention and continue the conversation, responding to the word or phrase perfectly, and she'd vowed to someday pick his brain for the technology that made _that_ possible.

Sometimes he did let her pick his brain, and as long as she kept it to the technological and not the personal, he would sometimes inadvertently tell her some very interesting—very _alien_— stories.

And, of course, there was his own native language, which he spoke mainly around Trunks and did not bother to translate. She had to confront him about this during lunch one day, in fact:

"Vegeta, I'm all for Trunks being bi-lingual and everything, but you've got to tell me what you're teaching him. He kept screaming something all morning and I had no idea what he wanted."

Vegeta paused in his eating and looked at her curiously.

"What did he say?"

She repeated the phrase as best she could, giving it two or three goes before she could properly reproduce the guttural cough halfway through. Vegeta mouthed it to himself, frowning in concentration, doubtless trying to pick out meaning from baby speech. And then he did, and a smile grew on his face as comprehension dawned. Bulma could only stare in shock as Vegeta threw back his head and laughed.

"What?" she demanded when the laugh had gone on for far too long for her liking. "What did he say?"

But Vegeta only tousled Trunks' hair, something she'd never seen him do, and said, "Ah, Trunks, truly you are your father's son."

And she never could get more out of him than that.


End file.
